


He Wasn't There Again Today

by grinningCalamity



Series: Tales from the Habitat Repository [1]
Category: Smile For Me (Video Game), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archivist!Kamal, Gen, Hostage Situations, I'll update these tags as things come up!!, Kidnapping, basically its the smile for me cast in the tma universe, give kamal a break 2k20, kamal leaps to conclusions asmr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24267853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grinningCalamity/pseuds/grinningCalamity
Summary: Kamal arrives at the Habitat Repository to find his assistants spirited away, and an old mystery waiting to come back to the light.Title is from Antigonish by William Hughes Mearns.
Series: Tales from the Habitat Repository [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751779
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. Soil

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy!! Welcome to the first work of the TMA Smile for Me AU! The fics in this collection will not be chronologically organized- it's more like I'll be writing whatever scenes I want whenever the motivation strikes, y'know?  
> This particular story takes place probably a few years into Kamal's tenure as Archivist.  
> Let me know if you liked it in the comments! Anything you have to say, I'll be delighted to hear!

When Kamal got back to the Habitat, he immediately made a beeline for the stairs, completely bypassing the front desk and the secretary who was desperately trying to get him to sign in. He took the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping on multiple occasions, and power-walked through the upper halls until he reached the door to the Repository offices.

Throwing open the door- maybe a bit more aggressively than was strictly necessary- Kamal ran a few steps into the main work space, and then stopped cold. It was empty.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. It was a Saturday, of course no one would be in. But today, he had specifically requested to meet with his assistants here, at this time, and he believed he had made the urgency quite clear. It was obvious, however, that nobody had been in today at all.

As a matter of fact, it seemed rather like nobody had been in for  _ years. _ Kamal coughed into his sleeve at the cloud of dust that had been kicked up when he’d slammed the door open. Looking closely at the room, everything seemed to be covered in a thick layer of dust and dirt. He glanced over his shoulder to see that his shoes had left clear prints in the grime on the floor, and they extended a good few feet back into the hallway before the dirt became thin enough that the tracks were no longer visible.

This did not bode well.

On high alert for the slightest sign of danger, Kamal took another step into the room. When nothing happened, he took another, and then another. Slowly, carefully, he crossed the room to the cluster of desks provided for the Repository assistant staff, and he realized the room must not have been empty for as long as he’d thought.

Randy’s shoulder bag sat on the seat of his chair, completely filthy. Kamal could smell the pickles the man must have packed in his lunch, so it was clear that Randy had at least been here this morning. The bag hadn’t been left overnight. He’d seen Randy leave with it the day before, he was positive. Right?

Kamal’s other Assistant’s desk showed no particular sign that they specifically had been there, but clearly  _ someone _ had, because there was a manila folder sat square on top of it that he didn’t recognize as the type they stocked in the Repository. He scanned the rest of the room quickly, but didn’t spot anything else out of the ordinary aside from all the dirt, so he stepped cautiously around to the front of his Assistant’s desk to read the label on the folder.

It appeared to be written in… mud, like someone had dipped their finger in muck and dragged it across the top of the folder to form large, messy letters.

KAMAL, it read.

Well.

What else could he do? Nervously, he reached out with one hand- shielding his face from the imminent dust cloud with the other- and flipped the folder open. 

There were two pieces of paper inside. Kamal recognized them immediately, because they were the basic profiles he had been given on both of his still-present assistants when they were sent to work in the Repository with him.

Randy Hapukurk, 26, male, transferred in from filing.

<ASSISTANT>, unknown, not provided, hired directly to the Repository.

Pictures of both of them smiled up at him from their respective sheets.

There was no way this meant anything good. Kamal picked up the papers carefully, as though the slightest move in the wrong direction would lead to calamity (which, to be fair, he had no evidence to deny), and saw the last part of the message. On the inside of the folder, previously hidden by the profiles that had lain on top of it, was one more mud-scrawled word.

CELLAR.

The vague, anxious weight that had been growing in Kamal’s gut solidified into a rock-like ball of fear, and for a few moments, he found himself unable to do anything but stare. He’d run late to the meeting. He’d known he was late as soon as he spotted the clock in the Habitat lobby. He’d assumed the worst that he would have to deal with because of that was a pair of disgruntled assistants.

Now, though, it was abundantly clear that he had been gravely mistaken. How late had he been? He wracked his mind, trying to remember what exactly the clock had said that had made him panic. It was… ten minutes? Fifteen? Surely no more than twenty. What could have happened in that time?

Well, that didn’t matter. Not right now. Something- something had kidnapped (or killed, but he was trying very hard not to think about that possibility) his assistants, and now it wanted- what? To talk to him? Unlikely, surely.

Kamal stared at the word as it leered up at him from the stiff manila paper. Cellar. Could it be a clue, a hint of some sort? But why? There was no way it wanted him to find it, surely. If it just wanted to  _ have a chat _ , it could have grabbed his attention in a far less extreme manner, so that implied that his assistants were an important aspect of… whatever it was planning (and god, he hated not knowing what that was). And if  _ that _ was the case, then it was unlikely that this thing would be amenable to letting them go. So why give him what so obviously had to be a clue to their location?

...Because it was a trap, of course. Of course. It probably planned to lure him there and then trap him too, although he couldn’t imagine why. For a brief second, Kamal considered the possibility of going to the police, but quickly shoved that notion aside. This was clearly supernatural, and it clearly had something to do with the Habitat. Separately those two points made the police loathe to pick up a case, and together? It meant he’d be lucky if it got looked at within a year. Or at all.

And Boris wasn’t in today, of course not, it was the weekend, and it wasn’t like he had the Head of the Habitat’s personal phone number or home address to ask for his help. Even if he did, who knew what the man would say? He wasn’t exactly known for giving the most reliable advice.

No, clearly Kamal would have to handle this himself. Taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to quell the panic that had lodged itself in his stomach, he picked up the folder with the papers closed safely back inside and tucked it into Randy’s bag, which he wiped as much of the soil off of as he could before hoisting it up and hanging it over his own shoulder.

Cellar.

He had a bad feeling he knew exactly where that was.

It was a trap, Kamal knew. There was no way it wasn’t a trap. But it was also the only lead he had, and while he may not have been a brave man, he cared deeply about his assistants. Like hell was he gonna let them get hurt if there was something he could do about it.

...Shit.


	2. Cellar

Someone was playing a sick joke on Kamal, he knew that much. They must have thought they were very clever, sending him here. Oh, the irony.

He was standing in the woods. Overgrown plant life practically obscured the cellar doors, and the blue paint that presumably used to coat them was chipped and faded. A padlock sat hooked between the handles; no key was in sight, but it was already enticingly unlocked.

It looked exactly the same as it had two and a half years ago, the last day anyone had seen Wallus Breadbear alive, or at all.

A soft breeze whistled by, and Kamal absently tugged his coat tighter around himself, indulging the memories for a moment.

When he’d first joined the Habitat, Kamal had been in the Research department. He’d spent a few years there, and over that time, had become good friends with Wallus. The other man was a few years his senior, both at the Habitat and in general, and so had been the one to show Kamal the general ropes of the place. Working together, they’d found they actually had a lot in common, and soon their professional relationship grew into something more personal.

Wallus was in and out of the Repository a surprising amount for someone on the Research team, as that area was generally restricted to archiving staff only, but he’d been at the Habitat long enough to build up something of a rapport with the people there, so they trusted him enough to let him in and give him occasional extra statement-based errands to run. After the old Head Archivist had unexpectedly passed away, the Repository was in complete chaos, so they had been recruiting Wallus more than usual, who in turn enlisted Kamal to help get it all done.

It was for one of these errands that Kamal had been researching the Cellar. A mysterious pair of doors in the middle of the woods, with no attached building in sight, unlocked and waiting for an unfortunate passerby to trap within its walls. Or so the statement had said, at any rate. Wallus, and, by extension, Kamal, had been tasked with determining whether the thing even truly existed. After scouring local lore and turning up nothing of much relevance, Wallus decided they’d have to try to find it themselves. They took the bus to the edge of the woods the statement-giver had claimed they’d found it in, and started their hike.

It hadn’t been hard to find. In fact, it was almost concerning how easily their feet left the trail and found the doors in the ground, not wavering in their path through the trees even though they had had no idea where their destination lay.

They hadn’t gone in, of course. They didn’t have the supplies for it, for one thing. So they made a note of where they’d found it, and headed home.

Several days later, just as he was packing up to go home for the weekend, Kamal got an email from Wallus saying there was an update in the case, something had come up, and they’d need to investigate the Cellar more thoroughly, and would Kamal meet him Saturday around 3 to venture inside? It was strange, but not the strangest thing, and Wallus had already left that day, so Kamal just shot back a confirmation message and went home.

When he arrived at the site of the Cellar the next day- and once again, it had been almost disturbingly easy to find- Wallus was nowhere in sight. It was a bit early yet, though, so he settled in to wait the fifteen minutes until their official meeting time.

Fifteen minutes stretched into thirty, into fifty, and eventually it was 4 o clock, with no word from Wallus whatsoever. Kamal stared at the Cellar’s doors. At the loose padlock, hanging innocently off one handle. ...Was it possible Wallus had arrived before him, and was waiting inside? Surely not, right? It had been over an hour, he would have come out to look for him by now.

...Had something happened? He felt a chill at the thought. This was a supernatural occurrence they were investigating, after all. Supposedly, this place was dangerous.

...A half hour, he decided. He’d give Wallus another half hour- and a few more phone calls- and then, if there was still no sign of him, he’d… go in.

The half hour passed like nothing, and somewhere in the middle of it, his calls had changed from ringing through to Wallus’s answering machine to a recorded message claiming  _ This Number Can No Longer Be Reached. _

Kamal straightened up, took a deep breath, and stepped over to the weathered Cellar doors. He leaned down, wrapped both his hands tightly around one of the handles, and  _ pulled _ . The door opened painfully slowly, creaking and groaning all the way, and Kamal had to strain to pull it up all the way until gravity allowed it to collapse in the other direction.

Then he stared.

No.

No, that couldn’t be right.

Quickly, scrambling, he hauled the other door open, and when it slammed loudly into the dirt on its other side, Kamal stood in stunned silence

There was nothing there.

There was  _ nothing there _ .

Just dirt. Dirt and rocks.

It was as if someone had just carried a loose set of doors out to the woods and dropped them somewhere. Except he  _ knew _ that couldn’t be it, because the statement-giver had gone inside- they’d heard the knocking, and gone inside, and the walls had shifted, and-

Oh, god.

Numbly, Kamal dialed Wallus’s number one more time. The dial tone politely informed him, once again, that that number was no longer in service.

He didn’t know what else to do.

He went home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2, baybey! We got some lore! Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
